Under the stars
by RumpledRegina
Summary: Former nature photographer is forced to live a paparazzo life after a serious knee injury. Being completely out of touch with the celebrity status quo, he just shows up where he's needed, takes the target's picture and leaves. Until the day he met her…


Gold beat the alarm that Sunday morning. His knee was flaring up, it was a bad one. He had sat on bed agonizing over the waves of piercing pain for about an hour before the usual time he rose out of bed. Thankfully he wouldn't have to work today, he thought as he reached for his cell to turn off the alarm. He groaned loudly as he did that but it wasn't his old injury that caused this. It was a text message from his boss. Well… employer. Williamson and Gold both were aware of his position as a mere employer, much to the former's chagrin. Gold was never the kind of guy that would answer to anyone but himself, expecting him to start now would be a foolish endeavor. One that Williamson tried once or twice even though he was no fool. And that's why Gold continued agreeing being hired by him. Well that and the fact that it was the highest paid job he could get considering his…situation.

"Former nature photographer is forced to live a paparazzo life after a serious knee injury." would probably be the headline of his story, front page, written by a sadistic being that loved to play around with human lives. Should he call it "God"? Couldn't care less frankly. When he used to live in the wilderness simply for being able to have the opportunity to catch that elusive and majestic moment of nature, be it in the eyes of an animal or the colorful lights up in the sky, it was just him and mother nature. No deities, simply her majesty.

"I need you today" the text wrote and Gold knew it must be a big event, one that would get both of them the big bucks but only him the constant urge to roll his eyes. Having his subjects shifted from nature's miracles to mankind's stupidity wasn't easy for him but he always reminded himself that at least he still got to live on his own terms and do what he loved since forever, being a photographer. He never used his real name on this job though and there was no need, a simple "Gold" was enough. His shots were more important than him and that was the only constant thing in his life, a fact that he enjoyed immensely.

"Fine. Text me the details" he replied. He was pretty sure Williamson had him written down as "Golden Boy" on his phone and that always amused him. The infamous "Golden Boy" he chuckled as he thought of the hustle and bustle his nickname has created in the circles. The other photographers either admired him or hated him and Williamson was sure the first one to grab on the peaked interest and turn it into a "myth".

"You're like a superhero. In, getting the job done and out before most of them notice", he had told him once upon a time at one of their scarce meetings in person. He had found that ridiculous since not getting noticed and getting the shot fast was of imperative importance if a leopard would be staring you straight in the face let's say. And then jump right at you let's say so you'd have to dodge as fast as you could but trip, shatter your knee in a million pieces and manage to not get mangled alive only because your native mission partner killed the beautiful animal right on time. And the tears would come and rain on the soil but you couldn't tell anymore if it was due to the injury or the grief of seeing the magnificent being lying lifeless near you.

Another shooting pain broke of his thoughts and he decided it was time to gear up and start the day. Prescription meds check, his eggs benedict for breakfast check, all his beautiful equipment staked carefully on his bag check, his usual "uniform" of black jeans, black low cut leather boots, monochromatic T-shirt or shirt on special occasions (today it was a white T-shirt), his favorite black leather jacket check and his black aviators check. After fixing his short hair into a presentable shape for his standards he locked the door behind him and headed down to his motorcycle.

Gold wouldn't describe himself as an athletic person unless an athletic person was the guy who would stand still at the most impossible body position in order to angle his camera right. Then yeah, maybe, maybe he was, that was his whole life after all. This apparently trained his muscles so well that they can carry his weight even with a severe injury so his abilities of doing his job and carry on with his life physically were never the issue. His borderline addiction to the painkillers though was but… that's a story for another time.

He arrived at the midday gala or whatever else rich people have invented to kill time and boost their vanity call this these days. He had memorized his "target's" name and photo. She was called Regina apparently, was a singer and supposedly a pop sensation. She was becoming the tabloid's favorite rapidly and Williamson wanted the first and best photos to launch this craze and establish superiority. Gold on the other hand had zero interest in pop culture whatsoever, the only way he'd remember a celebrity would be if he was sent to photograph them and that would be about it.

The pack of eager paparazzi got excited and he assumed she was on her way out any minute now. And yes, the woman from the picture was getting out of the back entrance early. As soon as she was spotted the pack moved aggressively towards her and the flashes started clicking like rapid fire.

"Regina, Regina! Over here! Regina! Give us a wide one! Regina!"

It was mayhem as usual but he didn't hear a thing, he simply stayed behind the rest fixating on her. He had met a lot of beautiful creatures on this earth but nothing mesmerized him quite like her. And he didn't even know why. It wasn't her clothes or her physical features, regardless of them being quite attractive. It was something he couldn't describe and it shook him to the core. All he could do was admiring her, on and off his camera lence. When she was done with her little stalling display for them, making sure to show off her alluring red dress, her leopard print coat that was very "in", her makeup and off course her cleavage, she was ready to drive off. All the paparazzi put their flashy weapons down except him who did something he had never done before. He hopped on on his motorcycle and followed her red convertible.

At a light stop he pulled right next to her. Got quickly his camera out and snapped some photos. She noticed him, pulled her wide black sunglasses up and almost barked at him "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He smirked and continued capturing her alluring essence. "My job" he replied dryly.

"You've had your chance back there, I've been more than generous. Now leave me alone!" If looks could burn, he'd be toast by now.

"Let me ask you something" he said as he continued snapping." You're Regina who? No last name?"

"It's just Regina you ignorant fool" she said and rolled her eyes. "I can't believe you call yourself a paparazzo. I've never seen you around anyway, what's YOUR name?" That mysterious pest of a man was irritating her more than his kind usually did and yet she couldn't take her eyes of him for some inexplicable reason.

"I'm known as Golden boy" He laid the camera down and smirked right at her.

Her breath was momentarily caught as he looked deep into his amber eyes and that fact startled and annoyed her. "Well you're certainly no boy" she let out eyeing him from top to bottom, with sarcasm engulfing her laughter afterwards.

"No. But I always deliver."

He winked at her suggestively while cradling his camera before securing it, put his aviators on and drove off as fast as permissible.

Regina was shaken up but the green light didn't leave her much room for contemplation. She pulled her glasses down, got a couple of curled up locks out of her face, grunted and drove off thinking about this absolute nobody's audacity.


End file.
